


Unwanted Sentiments

by Avaya



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaya/pseuds/Avaya
Summary: Bruce Wayne finds himself in the midst of the greatest mystery he must solve: his own emotions.





	1. Undue Conduct

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to forewarn that this particular Batman is...different than the others I've written. I like him this way. :)

Strange.

The main premise of the meeting had been about strengthening the bonds of the team, but he felt…out of place for numerous reasons.

Firstly, they hadn’t _waited_. It would have been one thing if he had been late, another if he merely hadn’t shown up. But he _hadn’t_ been late—in fact, he was early by five minutes. He _had_ shown up—he relayed a definitive answer to Superman when told what the basis of the meeting would be about.

It was discourteous, something he’d never do to _any_ of them, no matter how they all knew he was strictly punctual. He would have let that go…if the second hadn’t happened.

When he glided in silently, he watched them all chattering amicably, genuine smiles painted on their faces. One of his own unconsciously threatened to slip through at the sight of such deep connections.

Superman relaxed his head on his hand to converse with them as Green Lantern leaned towards him, Flash beside him and gesticulating wildly to a chuckling Hawkgirl. An easy grin pulled from the Martian courtesy of Wonder Woman who admitted another thing that confused her about _Man’s World_ directly related to what Superman had been saying. He didn’t hone his attention onto the topic of their discussion, basking in the warmth that every expression emitted.

Something stirred within him, pleasant and warm. Many thought he rarely felt anything besides a hidden anger that couldn’t be assuaged. Even some League members have openly wondered if he existed as a husk or a dead being since the well-known brutalized murders. Though he did guard himself carefully _from_ having an emotional reaction due to the possibility of another loss, he felt plenty of emotions.

He just felt them more _deeply_ than others and if he wasn’t careful, he would be overloaded with them.

An eight year old boy had been irreparably broken that night and the only psychological response had been a severe emotional reduction to the point where he felt little or nothing at all. Some thought it a long-standing case of shock. He’d long ago concluded that he is a sociopath.

In truth, he’d simply buried everything in the deepest recesses of his psyche. After decades of nothingness, he suddenly felt something when he met Superman and it worsened when he got to know Clark Kent. It worried him and set his mind in motion to figure out why. He still did not know the reason as he pondered the loving scene.

It would be amicably put, but what he saw disturbed him as well. There had been a disconnection between the League members in their past few team battles and plenty of missions before, commencing approximately a year and a half ago. What he viewed saw no hint of any possibility for that.

Batman ruminated on this when Superman flicked his eyes up suddenly and immediately settled upon him. Batman read Superman’s evident disbelief at his appearance: the surprised look in his eyes and the way he stammered out his name. He’d been expecting what the Kyrptonian gave everyone else, but instead received an incredulous “Bruce! You’re here!”

He’d been absolutely sure someone had taken a Bowie knife to his chest, a diagonal slash made across his heart. The sensation was so vivid—so real!

 _His reaction is the cause_. He catalogued it for later.

The atmosphere became thick with tension. Muscles tightened, smiles dissipated, eyes flew towards his direction—all except J’onn wore an eerily similar mortified expression flickering with bits of disappointment.

No. That wasn’t right. _Uncertainty._

They were hiding something and not as well as the Martian.

It told him that they had assumed he wouldn’t appear, that perhaps the atmosphere that he’d caught formed due to his _lack_ of presence. Not to mention whatever they wished to cover up from him so that he would not be privy to it.

It confused him, for was he _not_ one of them? Worst of all, it let him know that they didn’t _trust_ him. That made his pulse quicken as he recognized the early stages of relenting into his anger.

Batman quelled his pacing heart, evened out his breathing in an attempt to calm himself so that Superman wouldn’t draw any unnecessary conclusions.

He reprimanded Superman—as he approached his seat in front of him—by replying he appeared when the meetings were of vital importance and ensuring that they were a cohesive unit in any way possible is important.

He didn’t need to remind the vibrantly clashing hero of his decision to arrive. Superman’s slightly ducked head and tinted pallor was enough. 

The third oddity of the night immediately followed. Green Lantern muttered that it was impossible for them to be seamless if a certain member decided that he would show whenever he wished.

It wasn’t _what_ he said or even _how_ he said it. But the result of his words.  

 _What_ he said was very true…if said member was a powered being. Someone like him could be a hindrance in plenty of battles.

 _How_ he said it—loud, bitter, and challenging, an arm draped over his seat while fingers thrummed the table, head still and gaze aimed up at him—was typical of the Lantern.

He readied himself for Superman’s aided defense, though he didn’t need it. He coolly replied that _he_ had the most villains to contend within a very crooked city where being _good_ is damn near a crime. _He_ had a necessary façade that could not be broken. _He_ relied on intelligence and gadgets while others had powers to aide them which could be a detriment in many situations.

As he continued to deconstruct Lantern’s faulty argument at length, a thought seeped into him which nearly made him silent.

He’d never talked this long before and the reason for that is due to the fact that Superman hadn’t spoken up. _Once_.

By now, he would have calmly spoken to Lantern in understanding of Batman’s situation and the Dark Knight would be thankful for having to save wasted breath. Casting a glance at Superman without turning his head, he noticed that his face was turned away and an audible sigh had escaped.

A _frustrated annoyed_ breath of air.

Batman felt his heart clench horribly. He physically restrained his hand from rising to his chest in mid-air, pausing mid-sentence.

Confusion flooded through him.  He didn’t understand the sensation though he understood the cause. But the cause didn’t make much sense either—it only alluded to more questions.

Lantern caught what happened during the brief pause, folding his arms over his chest as a small sneer awakened.

In the cruelest voice he could muster, Batman muttered. “I have a feeling that you didn’t comprehend most of what I spoke.”

The sneer widened. “It’s 8:01.” came the response, as if to blame _Batman_ for their late start, as if they hadn’t started without him already.

Superman became infused with life then, speaking before Batman could reply. “Right.” He said, standing to face them all as if the past few minutes had not happened.

A flash of glorious heat surged through him, one that he’d given into plenty of times, but its current vigor nearly over-whelmed him. He mastered his self-defiance but two surprise _attacks_ had weakened him.

Batman almost gave himself over to it, feeling the veins pushing against his skin to heat it, frigid eyes slits behind the mask, heart pounding loudly against his rib cage. If he chose to submit to the welcome comfort that aided him for many years, he would continue standing or, better yet, simply leave the room in defiance over what had just happened.

He’d been culled, emasculated, in front of _everyone_. Batman was _never_ treated that way. If they knew how close they’d all come to dying—when he had originally found out about them and set about to decipher if they were helpful beings or merely selfish opportunists—he wouldn’t have been shown such grave disrespect. Even though he did not feel for any of them, he’d come to find that he trusted them.

They were showing him that he had erred which would be detrimental to them in the long-run.

Lantern also caught what Superman had done—of course the Air Force wash-out did. Possibly to relish knocking Bruce off of his high gargoyle perch that Bruce’s _façade_ saw himself. Would he still be wearing that smug grin around him if he told him that after Batman found out his identity, he’d installed a bomb onto his personal aircraft that he flew for Ferris just in case he went rogue? An untraceable undetectable bomb that if tampered with would detonate and level the airfield?

He itched to leave, every muscle in his body taut with tension, his thoughts screaming for him _not_ to pacify the immortal being who chose to affront him. The very same being who would die if locked in an inescapable vault with large chunks of glowing green meteorite.

Clearly, Batman didn’t take insults with stride.

But what of his declaration? Isn’t his situation the _exact_ reason why such meetings were needed?

His lips parted barely to draw in a large breath as he slowly seated himself next to J’onn. Superman’s voice didn’t penetrate his thoughts as he schooled his countenance to something impassive.

A sickening feeling rose within him akin to bile.

Disgust. Something he knew and had felt on occasion towards others that he now transferred to the members of the Justice League. And himself.

That fueled him currently, edged at every thought, a foul taste in his mouth that he tried to wipe away with the running his tongue along his roof or a lump he swallowed down when he knew no one would be attentive.

He preferred to dwell in emptiness than suffer such self-loathing.

For this, Batman wanted to corner Superman, to eviscerate him as he had done, leave him frothing with rage due to such malicious treatment. Then again, he wanted to show him the same callous disregard, not wanting to seek him out and bypass his existence.

Thoughts of _how_ to do this soon returned him to his non-feeling state of before. He pointedly ignored the clawing in his brain, his _curiosity_ to find out what had happened between him and someone he held in high regard. It would lead him down the same destructive emotional path the he felt he trudged towards.

Not to mention he wanted, needed, desired _no one_. He felt for _no one_. So Superman _is_ no one.

Now the final oddity of the long night was here.

It’s as if he’d spoken something out of the ordinary as they all rose to leave—seemingly in a hurry and almost as if in the same direction.

Some mouths were agape. They leered at him like he’d made a hilarious quip and they were torn between laughter or rushing him into the medical bay. It was the culmination of an unbelievably frustrating meeting.

He had simply stated something that he had hoped super powered heroes would understand.

“You what?” Green Lantern stated, an eyebrow raised behind his green mask, tone is laced with boredom.

 _Two words, Lantern_. Batman compelled himself not to say. _Instant. Death. I have five ways that I can give it to you._

He nearly let out a snort at the vivid picture of Lantern’s reaction. He would enjoy it.

“I’ve bought a yacht.” He repeated, slower this time. Is the simplicity of the sentence too much for them? Did he need to be as verbose and complex as usual? Or was there something he wasn’t getting?

They all passed glances at each other before Flash turned to him, exclaiming in a tone that struggled with enthusiasm, “That’s great, Bats! I hope you’ll let us all on it sometime.”

He did exhale then, not knowing if it was out of annoyance or amusement. No, annoyance. Definitely annoyance. Since when did Batman _brag_ about his monetary trinkets? Bruce Wayne, sure, but not Gotham’s Protector.

“That is precisely the point, Flash. Was not building a closer camaraderie the central ground for this conference?”

“So you bought us a boat.” Lantern intoned flatly.

“ _I_ have a _yacht_.” Amendment to former question that would lead one to assume Batman _didn’t_ gloat to anyone. He only did to the Green Shit-Stain, making a finer point by burrowing the dagger deeper. The asshole couldn’t even pay his own rent. “I understand why it would be difficult for you to retain the difference between the two seeing as how you are simplistic in nature no matter how many times you are told.”

Batman was about to continue when Superman spoke. “I think it’s great that you’ve thought so far ahead, Bruce—”

He cut him off. “It’s not that difficult. I must admit that I am supremely disappointed that _no one_ seemed to have a plan for this. Especially since the basis for tonight’s meeting was _because_ of it.”

Something flashed in Superman’s eyes and his lips closed. Flash edged closer to his right side.

“It’s as if no one gave any possible thought to it, though we all knew what the topic would be. Quite frankly, tonight was a waste of my time. And I do _not_ like my time spent frivolously by others.”

Superman straightened, any friendliness in his demeanor long dissipated as Batman’s voice grew more frigid. Varying expressions played on the others faces.

“Finally, it’s Batman. _Not_ Bruce. _Not_ B. _Not_ Bats. _Not_ whatever asinine nickname anyone of you think is clever to think up.” He addressed them all, though his gaze resided only on his _friend_ who loved to call himself his _friend_ though he hadn’t acted so _friend_ ly tonight. “Just because I’ve stated nothing before does not mean that you can freely call me whatever you wish.”

Now his lips thinned and his eyes hardened somewhat as he searched for something—in Bruce’s vitals, past words and actions, his tone.

Batman is the perfect actor though. He knew nothing would be betrayed.

His heartbeat thrummed along steadily but Superman wouldn’t be able to ascertain the muddied thoughts that jumbled within his mind, new tidbits of information added like a tornado vaccuming in a wooden house as it swept through.

His leaden cowl wouldn’t reveal the turmoil that currently afflicts him, new emotions never felt before or not having been felt in a while assaulting him that he needed to desperately process.

The deep tenor that swept many unsuspecting women off their feet didn’t waver, no muscle spasms, no beads of sweat, no unnecessary nervous twitching. Just a deathly stillness that _all_ knew to be indicative of him.

…He almost let himself slip with a cruel sneer.

Batman also knew that Superman got the point. Their close almost dependent working relationship has been extinguished as of the current night. Clark Kent was now _nothing_ to Bruce Wayne.

_Can you figure out why, Kent?_

“We’re not all rolling in dough.” Green Lantern bit out through gritted teeth, a scowl contorting his features after Batman’s revelation while he tightened his arms across his chest.

If Batman hadn’t seen the nigh imperceptible shift of his head towards Superman, Batman would have believed Lantern’s gaze was on Gotham’s Protector, not Metropolis’ Savior.

“Not to mention that harsh criticisms and personal barriers would impede on this situation.” Wonder Woman added, her voice soft yet somehow sternly chiding.

“That does not matter.” He dismissed both their claims. “Finances aren’t truly needed to bond. My yacht is a necessary expenditure related to Gotham. Other matters are minute compared to what is at stake if we all fail. I am more than capable—and have on plenty of occasions—dealt with comrades of whom I have great distaste.”

Quick intakes of breaths were heard, the warm ambience now all but gone as it devolved to offended anger. He humorlessly chuckled to himself. Were they foolish enough to assume that he spoke of them? After what he recently experienced, why wouldn’t he count them among the numerous throng?

No. Why _didn’t_ he?

“Well, if you feel that way—” Hawkgirl spat out furiously, a fist raised.

“I do.” His amused tone only increased her ire. _Someone_ is foolish enough apparently or perhaps Shayera’s sentence wasn’t going to end with _then why are you here_. “But I reiterate, the world is more important than any grievance.”

Again with the not-so-secretive glances at each other. Except this time Superman didn’t join in, dark sapphires intent on him which he ignored by casually turning his back to him.

That landed his gaze directly on Martian Manhunter, who he realized hadn’t participated with the others as well. He nearly bared his teeth at him.

“If any of you are _serious_ —which I am currently doubting—find eight days that you will all be free together. I am sure I am not needed for that. So do _not_ call me about it.”

He then calmly walked towards the elevators, knowing all eyes followed him. There was much to ruminate over—possible rash actions, logical failings that led to impulsive responses, the upsetting thought that before all of this began, he realized he _wanted_ to be among them—but one specific action occupied him. 

J’onn had given him a _pitying_ glance.

Damn that Martian.


	2. Bittersweet

_**Two weeks later...**_  
Bruce Wayne double, triple, quadruple checked the navigation at the helm, if the emergency broadcast would work, where they were via the map no matter if there were those who could simply drift high enough to discern where they were.

It occupied his mind from the horrid meeting two weeks ago as well as a few other circumstances.

As in the following days in which he found himself _preferring_ to have never met any or heard of any of them due to feeling out of place, on the outside looking in as it were.

The regret that seized him when he offered to host this for them.

_Loneliness_ that assaulted him due to finding out that Clark who had once been a major annoyance on his day to day—he was not going to admit that it he had been a _tolerable_ or even _welcome_ disruption—had all but disappeared from his life.

These repulsive emotions he’d never had to battle when he worked alone.

The fact that two days into their eight day sojourn, he felt more put out then before. More so because of what he’d been recently told hours ago.

It was as if they tolerated his exercises. After his cruelty, he did not blame them and truthfully, they all excelled. He’d had enough tests, missions, simulations and other games plotted for their respite, but he realized it wasn’t needed.

They were all in sync, flawless. Every single one of them. With or without him. So why did Clark— _Superman_. He thought. _Detach yourself away from him_ —insist on this?

But there had been one more test he’d decided to try, one unbeknownst to them. A variable he didn’t think of until he realized it as a possibility.

He sighed, throwing down the maps onto the lavish sofa while rubbing a hand down his face.

The sun was setting on the Pacific, coloring the sky in joyful hues. No fowl or plane marred the sky, silence reigning all around him. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he couldn’t even hear anything from below. He left them to enjoy the luxuriant tastes that he was known for…and that he secretly despised.

Alcohol had a medicinal smell to him—pungent and putrid. He drank from only a special bottle—apple juice with no concentrate, dark enough to look like rum or whisky. But they imbibed to their delight at his built-in bar decorated with the best liquors, just as they had the couple of days before.

Hal Jordan had set up the poker table for Clar—Superman, J’onn, and Shayera. Gambling—a poor man’s delusion to get rich quick which, coupled with the alcohol, could put him more in debt and cost him his life. A game with much to risk and little chance to gain what was wanted. So stupid and foolish—anything that cost more than the reward was not worth it.

Delectable foods filled his three fridges in the kitchen, none of which he could partake due to his strict diet. Barry Allen had put in five New York style frozen pizzas into the three ovens available.

He also chose angry pulsing rock music to pound from the speakers. He himself preferred smooth jazz or classical.  

A lone figure clad in a silk black tee and khaki shorts had quietly departed the scene unbeknownst to them, left them to their own devices… _five_ hours ago.

Only one of them had passed the secret mission and Bruce thought that it was due to his ability to read minds. He had been standing at the bow when he heard his voice, questioning why he was not relaxing with them.

“A few things have come up in Gotham.” He smoothly lied, feeling no need to elaborate.

“Does that mean you are leaving?” His voice, ever so monotonous, hinted at something. Bruce carefully deciphered the hidden tone.

Guilt.

He narrowed his eyes fractionally. What the hell did J’onn have to feel guilty about?

He then dallied with the possibility that J’onn didn’t realize that he _gave_ himself away by the changing tones and inflections of his voice. Or did he do it on purpose, so subtly that he knew only someone as keen as Bruce would get it?

“No.” He frowned at the possible deviousness of the Martian not recorded in his psychological profile as well as the question. “Why would I leave my yacht unless if it is under the most dire circumstance? I can deal with Gotham from here. I was honestly thinking of flying in…personal entertainment.”

He shrewdly surveyed the Martian who calmly looked out on the sea. He didn’t speak for several moments. “I was not speaking of Gotham.” was all he said, before turning to face him.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. He usually dealt with the Riddler, but J’onn was on another plane. As he mulled over his words, the Martian continued.

“I apologize, but I must cut my visit short.”

“You don’t like leaving it unattended.”

“I do not.”

“Neither do I which is why I have it synched to my yacht.”

“Still, I would prefer to be there in body. Spending another six days would be wasteful since I _feel_ that I have strong bonds with everyone.” The edges of his lips pulled. “I could be mistaken.”

“You could.” Bruce turned away from him with an easy roll of his shoulders. “Take care of the Watchtower.”

When J’onn still hadn’t moved, Bruce turned to see a small grin. “What?”

“You said _the_ , not _my_.”

“Semantics.”

“Remember the importance when you are next alone, my friend.”

Here he was: alone. Four hours after J’onn’s departure, still frustrated at the words with important meaning behind them.

Knowing that he could only detract himself from them for _so_ long—they all failed miserably after three hours, so searching for him would have led to a severely irate Bruce flaying them openly with verbal Batarangs—he headed down into the bulk of the ship.

He focused on the gentle waves rocking him to and fro instead of each step carrying him with increasing dormant fury. He counted his breaths slowly…evenly…as a soothing calm spread through him.

Anger would cause him to make a mistake. He needed to be rational, logical, to _think_. Now that he was—sort of—he allowed the thought that he held back to drift forth.

They had an issue with him. Not J’onn, of course, but the rest. It is evident by the fact that they didn’t look for him.

Over the past two days, he had each of them positioned where the others did not know but where the individual placed would easily get distracted when finishing their task. The others would search for their missing member after a length of time.  

They found Barry Allen in the kitchen, happily indulging in his favorite foods.

Shayera sparring in the simulation room.

Even Superman perusing tomes in his library.

They’d all been in places where it would be difficult to reach if one didn’t know how to navigate the vessel. And since all were forbidden to use their powers, it told him how much value they placed on each member.

But Bruce? He had been the easiest, placing himself at the top where they _knew_ he’d be because he had to drop anchor and to navigate while checking in with the Coast Guard. Not to mention that they all came on deck at least once a day to breathe the fresh air and that his main cabin was on the way.

No one sought him out. He wasn’t important enough to them apparently.

Animosity threatened to choke him as he thought of how they had treated him. After his visceral reaction, he understood why they were such a way. But while being handicapped, they didn’t know if any of them were safe. Bruce had been in the most possible danger and

They.

Didn’t.

_Care._

He threw a punch at the nearest solid oak door, the offending cry it made spurring him on to add another.

So _why_ did _he_?

Another.

_Why_ did it hurt? He _shouldn’t_ care. He’d worked with plenty of others before and it had always been mutually beneficial—no long attachments, loyalties, or anything of an altruistic nature.

Again.

He needed something. Someone had it. He bribed, manipulated, bought them. Occasionally, the light of life in their eyes would gasp out…but that was only when they double-crossed him and an innocent ended up paying the ultimate price.

And another.

But _this_? He’d never felt anything akin to this. It reinforced his belief that unchecked emotions were burdensome, cancerous in the way that they spread to take over one’s logical cognitive processes in a moment of unbridled passion.

So when had he lost himself to it?

Harder.

This felt so good. He could feel himself winding down. When any calming techniques failed, pain is the perfect replacement. Not emotional though, _physical_. The only way he knew how to deal with the former was by bottling it up in an unhealthy manner. It reared its monstrous head in the fashion reminiscent of the meeting. But physical…

One more for good measure.

The pain jolting through him made him feel a bit better as did the sight of his bruised knuckles. He extended his digits and curled them inward to touch his palm repeatedly, relishing the aches that he felt. Bruce conditioned himself to feel pleasure in physical pain. It’s how he continued to fight with broken ribs, noses, and gunshot wounds.

He hit the door again, its groan reminding him of Bruno’s flailing attempts to keep from dying, a wino that fed him false information that led to the death of a two year old girl. Batman had watched Bruno from the corner of his filthy living room as his fingers flew to his neck, as if clawing them would give him much needed air. A pudgy palm beat on the wooden nightstand next to him, face red as his eyes became glassy.

The last sight Batman made sure he’d seen was him trailing towards the space between the oldie television set and the dying man, calmly removing his cowl. The last words he heard being _Et tu, Bruno?_

Final one.

If somehow physical injuries didn’t suffice, dwelling on any of his favored kills did. None of the Justice League knew what he did or continued to do. If so, would they have asked him to join…or stopped him?

The sound echoed, jarring his thoughts and making him listen intently. Before, when he forlornly trudged up the stairs, _their_ laughter had wafted to his back. Now it was silent as if no one resided here but him.

That would be a nice thought, except now he was curious as to what they were up to. He fished keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, treading in before gently shutting it. A bank of monitors greeted him as he flicked the lock.

It was best that he found out what everyone was doing _before_ he went through with any of his particular plans. While brutalizing his investment, he’d come up with a number of them.

A quick cycling didn’t show them at any gathering place: the Jacuzzi, bar, movie theatre, kitchen. It meant that they were in their rooms, but—he turned his eyes towards the hanging clock—it was only five in the afternoon.

They _were_ drinking heavily. Is that why J’onn had left his message? They had passed out? Is that why they didn’t come to check on him?

“Hmph.” He snorted audibly, finger jamming down on a button to shut off the monitors.

It was the _wrong_ button, he realized, as movement in his peripherals caught his attention. And he wondered, as his face blanched while the scene before him unfolded, if he had done it on purpose.

Because he _knew_ where everything was, but his subconscious curiosity had compelled him to commit a breach of privacy.

But now that he pushed it and saw what he saw, his ire surged anew _worse_ than before.

~*~*~*~

It was what he needed, what they _all_ desired. After the past harrowing weeks and the two previous grueling days, they could strengthen their connections, make them unbreakable, and relax.

But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were _all_ supposed to get together and though they were hours before, the three of them were continuing without the others in secret.

It’s something they’ve been doing for months in secret.

An illicit secret within a secret.

He’d wondered when they would have time to do it. It had been incredibly difficult to focus on tasks given and not dwell on what troubled him, then afterwards when everyone congregated.

But with _them_? With _them_ , he forgot what plagued him incessantly, what gnawed at him that he had trouble sleeping. They knew what bothered him, and they endeavored to show him that everything would be okay, that they would accept him no matter what came to pass.

What he felt for _them_ was deeper than the rest and they echoed his sentiments. The first time it had been _just_ them had been mind-numbingly glorious, unable to be put into words. He remembered a lot of unintelligible phrases though one came through clearly that they voiced. They’d gotten better at it though.

What developed was something he needed and wanted, something the others couldn’t give. Which is one of the reasons why they were here now.

Alone.

Just the three of them.

Every sense of his is heightened, his body titillated in the most extraordinary of ways. That’s why he _loved_ doing this, with _these_ people that he trusted absolutely.

A desperate sigh escaped him. This healed him. This made him forget.

He languished in these thoughts as Barry rolled his hips downward, bright blue eyes watching. A beautiful pink cock slid into Clark Kent’s eager mouth as he rubbed off another. His eyes rolled back, focusing on the familiar width of cock that forced him to open his mouth so wide that it hurt. He tasted the hot flesh he’d become intimately familiar with: rising to meet every slow push in, swathing the soft head and thick shaft, then falling back every easy pull out.

He moaned in delight when, after a few licks, he could taste sweat.

It was observant little things like this that made him love Barry. He knew Clark loved what he called _gym dick_ —musky balls and a salty cock induced by perspiration.

He also knew Clark ached to hear those modest cries of passions that _they_ could bring past his lips. It made him plunged his two fingers deeper into the suffocating heat as he adored Barry’s sharp keens. They harmonized with the lewd squelching made by his fingers diving in, twisting to make him cry louder. Add the audible licks and it made a wonderful chorus that would have the most impotent man rock hard.

Clark giggled around his mouthful of cock at the fleeting touches grazing his fingers every so often. He widened his fingers as they continued to open Barry, allowing space for the tongue to slip in with him.

It belonged to an equally beautiful man kneeling over him, as did the cock Clark firmly stroked. His face is buried between the Barry’s sweet cheeks, passionately tasting and kissing, a hand spreading them for better access. That sinful moistness ran the rim and occasionally Clark’s fingers when they mournfully dragged themselves out to get a taste of what’s inside.

It made Clark tremble, a perfect recording playing in his mind of Hal Jordan giving him one of the hardest and _best_ orgasms of his life...without even touching him.

He’d been soft, grown steadily harder in his mouth, and after what that clever tongue did, his spunk _burst_ out of him, a seemingly endless river of milky goodness. Convulsions wracked his body, his breath sputtered in choked gasps, vision blinded a searing white. Everything had hurt in the best way and it took him a while to come down from such a high. When he had, he’d found something else equally remarkable.

Hal had swallowed him. _All_ of him. Nothing had escaped.  

Curled fingers grasped his throbbing cock, gently pulling Clark from his erotic ruminations. They slid along his shaft before a deft flick of wrist _twisted_ and they cascaded towards the head. He never knew when a finger lazily circled his mushroom tip, but he was never ready for it, could never gauge it.

Clark found himself pressing his hips into the bed in an effort to relay a message: in a few seconds, he would be bucking crazily in that tight fist, drenching anything with splashes of warm cum if Hal didn’t stop being so. Damn. Good. But he found himself thrusting into the hand anyway.

Hal simply adjusted, intent on unfurling the coiled knot low in Clark’s belly. He was doing the same to Barry who currently pushed against his face and his fingers before sinking into Clark’s mouth. The blond is gasping out, turning away from his thick cock in _Superman’s_ mouth to look over his shoulder at messy brown hair peeking over his ass. The heel of his hand held him up while the other disappeared into the tangled locks, holding him against him.

Hal hummed in approval, very willing to do more. Squeezing the ass he held, he pressed his face closer in an attempt to greedily wet the slick hole. He then lavished the fingers with some attention, the tight grasp in his hair falling away as he trailed along that little bit of skin to nip.

Barry jolted and they all felt it. He was so close…

He continued his descent, swallowing one of Barry’s large balls into his mouth before taking in the other, licking them with swift flutters and long swipes of his tongue. The strong hand palming his own cock is a stark contrast, just like the man in general: so gentle, the pace unhurried, whispering _I want to slowly watch you go crazy_.

Barry caught on to what Hal wanted, having returned to view the erotic scene below him. Slowly, he dragged his cock from out from the blessed heat, past full lips tight around him. He shivered in anticipation. This was one of his favorite positions. It was one of the reasons why he did this…so that _he_ could _watch_. He felt Hal give one last lick before moving onto the thick veiny shaft. Both men wasted no time dragging their tongues along the pulsing length.

Beneath Hal was a beautifully mussed lover that he enjoyed on many occasions, helping him swallow the cock they both couldn’t do without. He let out a strangled groan watching the alluring vivid eyes flame with desire as they caught his own…before he slowly seated Clark within him.

Clark’s vision was blurry, the room appearing hazy. He’d missed the teasing licks against his fingers until those dark lusty eyes made their appearance, peering down at him while a tortured moan escaped his parted lips. When their skin brushed for the first time, it seared pleasure within Clark, his body trembling with the need to release. But then he stilled as he felt the head of his cock kissing a familiar ring of muscle, relentlessly wishing to invade despite the resistance, eventually pushing past to be encapsulated within welcoming heat.

“ _Oh fuck me, Clark_.” Hal passionately moaned.

Clark now held his hip with a tender hand as Hal began to ride his cock demandingly, breathy praises near constant as he threw his head back for them to be heard.

“ _Fuck yeah, just like that_ ” tumbled out as Clark snapped his hips upward, driving them further into blessed heat.  Hal Jordan ground their hips together, the resounding _smack_ of his ass hitting his thigh sending shockwaves of pleasure through him.

At the sound of Hal, Barry moaned, his sensual pace into Clark picking up. Reaching underneath him, he carded Clark’s mussed dark locks, knowing that he enjoyed it when sucking someone off.

“ _Oh god_.”

Dark lusty eyes peered down at him, the tortured moan coming from the alluring mouth parted ever so slightly.

“ _Swallow him, Clark. All the way. You know how we like it._ ” Hal’s cock was so swollen that it _hurt_. Watching the two of them turned him on so badly that it was painful to hold himself back. Still, he stroked himself because the sight was too erotic _not_ to do so.

Barry agreed with him by letting out a low groan, resting his weight on his forearms, legs spreading wider so he could watch the assault on Clark’s mouth. He brought his hips against his face, so that his balls would slap his chin. His fingers trail along the beautiful flushed face he fucked: full soft lips grazing his shaft, warm moist tongue tickling him as he dove in, messy curls that he redefined whenever his fingers twirled them.

He knew he hadn’t been taking Barry fully. Whenever he did, Barry’s cock tickled the back of his throat. Clark wanted Hal to get in on it, to spur them on like only he could.

_“Yeah. Like that. You just want to keep sucking, don’t you? You want him to cum and never stop?”_

It was Clark’s turn to mewl, bringing lube-drenched fingers out of Barry’s hole to tug on large balls. They all knew Clark to be a cum-lover—not messy and wasteful, but willing to swallow each and every load pumped into him.

He does nod so that Hal can see, holding him a little tighter so he could feel that his dirty talk got him off. His stoppered groans make Barry shiver while stilling himself, head dropping to the mattress with eyes closed, trying to regain some composure so he doesn’t bust his nut too soon.

Clark begged him not to stop with a soft moan, swallowing him deftly and pulling on his balls harder.

_“Don’t stop fucking his throat, baby.”_ Hal’s voice dropped an octave, watching Barry’s pinched face as he tried to hold back his orgasm, trembling with exertion. _“You’re about to blow your spunk and fill him up. Look at him—He wants to swallow it all.”_

Clark was ready when Barry inched open his eyelids, sky blues peeking. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t mind it. He let Barry see his head tilted in his direction, half of his cock impaled in him, mouth wide so that he would get the idea. Clark wanted Barry to fuck his mouth as slow or fast as he desired...and he'd be able to watch his shaft sliding in and out covered in Clark's saliva. 

 And that was enough for Barry as he cried out in orgasmic bliss.

Clark moaned delightfully, pulling on Barry’s balls eagerly as his sweet spunk swept into his mouth. Having sent Barry over the edge made him crest his own, erratically thrusting into Hal, unable to control himself came inside one of his favorite places. He wanted that ever-clenching hole to milk him dry.

It was something that Hal never failed to do.

“ _Oh fucking fuck.”_

He didn’t slow, still pounding Hal deeply until he threw his back, rubbing himself furiously, thick cum splattering on Clark’s chest and his stomach. The absolute bliss on Hal—slackened mouth, long drawn out mewl, frame tense—was something he _ached_ to see just as Hal longed for Clark’s seemingly never-ending spunk exploding into him.

As Clark let Barry fall from his mouth, reaching the end of what he had to offer, Hal leaned forward to capture it. He wanted to sample his best friend by tasting Clark, unwilling to remove the loving girth nestled in him.

He shivered as a cum-soaked tongue wrapped around him, arms snaking around his waist to pull him down on his chest. Gently sliding his cock against Clark’s, he noted that though he just came forcefully, it wouldn’t take long to perk him up again at this rate.

“I feel left out.”

They broke apart, turning in tandem to a rosy Barry sheepishly watching them from the side. There was no jealously laden within his bashful admittance, but a want to participate.

A slow smile crept across Clark’s face as he stretched a hand to caress along his thigh. He then turned it over, palm upward.

“We’re not complete without you, Barry.”

“Yeah, Bar.” Hal muttered. “We love you just as much as you love us.”

Heart thumping, Barry closed the distance between them only to sigh as he shared a tender three-way kiss.

This was perfect. It was uncomplicated and worked well for them. Clark could think of nothing better. Except perhaps…the person who he could not have. He was sure that _that_ particular addition would mussy up everything.

Yet…something told him that it would work out for the best. He just had to make the leap.  
                                                                                                       ~*~*~*~  
Salty air seeped into his nose as it played with his hair, mockingly kissing his face, attempting to cool his heated skin with its soft touches. Darkness had fallen and he stood atop the deck, awash in its lights with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets while he waited.

Bruce was deep in thought, staring out at nothing in particular, feeling exactly what he saw: _nothing_.

True, the seething rage was still there, buried underneath the emptiness that encompassed him. But he’d figured out that most of it had been directed at one person in particular.

Of all the things he would have thought to see _including_ sex, he hadn’t expected to see _that_. And even though he had, he didn’t think it would be _him_ readily participating. That was the most revolting aspect of the whole scenario: to see someone whose whole personality was focused on demure innocent qualities being so immodest.

Whorish.

Distasteful.

He’d expected Superman to be a paragon of virtue, not an indulger of vices. It made his head throb with rage.

The whole group sex scene had been particularly jarring. After seeing the three men in bed, he’d rewound the cameras for the past few hours and found that _everyone_ had been fucking in the same room before J’onn came to seek him out. Before that, they’d waited until someone noticed that he was gone…an hour after he’d left them to their own devices.

So they waited like petulant children until prying eyes were away?

The ridiculous pairs that he’d seen before the three splintered he would have never coupled. Superman and J’onn? Lantern and Diana? Flash and Shayera? All six had been joined in some way, participating with another couple. Then they would switch with each other until each had satisfied everyone. His prying ended when J’onn slipped out, followed by the three men minutes after, leaving a slumbering Diana and Shayera in the former’s room.

That led him to think of J’onn and the fact that he sounded apologetic. There was no coming back from this…from _any_ of them, he thought, clenching his teeth. Dwelling on J’onn’s words of importance, he concluded simply that he preferred a life that he did not share with them…in particular with _him_.

Why should he when they didn’t trust him enough to share what they did with him? It accounted for their oddity to him over the past few months, but not _towards_ him. Not that he much cared anymore…or in the first place, he reminded himself, the false sense of calm creeping towards unbridled rage. Such repulsive behavior displayed when he had been so gracious to allow them to come aboard. And they disrespected him in such a manner?

He let out a small gasp as a searing sensation slashed across his chest. Slowly, he brought a hand to the sore spot, rubbing at it. Whatever this was kept happening to him since stumbling onto their secret. Closing his eyes, he sought within himself the source of this pain.

It wasn’t due to wanting to join them. He didn’t care for callous trysts himself and didn’t judge others for it, but _they_ were held to a different standard. He had thought them role models, individuals whose caliber greatly exceeded the denizens of Earth and he’d respected that they didn’t show any haughtiness due to it.

But now? Now, they were tainted, nothing remarkable no matter what powers they had, no matter how many lives they saved. They were better than no one.

Especially _him_.

He nearly doubled over as the tightening pain in his chest became more intense. So the feeling had something to do with _him_.

Bruce clenched his teeth. Every thought of _him_ made it worse.

_So stop thinking of…_

His ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps heading towards the deck. _Hesitant_. As if they knew he’d be here. He almost let a cruel smile slip.

Almost.

He transformed his stony face into one that showed nothing, a bored look thrown over his shoulder as Flash presented himself on the deck. He could tell that the blond expected him, but a satisfied thrill ran through him. He delighted in the slight recoil that his presence gave him: slightly enlarged eyes, taut muscles, small deep frown.

Perhaps he didn’t wear the correct expression. He was definitely off his game, not feeling quite himself. Maybe his eyes held the glint that he would let those he killed see before they died: a dark murderous gleam.

Oh well.

An uneasy smile then came over Flash’s face. “Hey, Ba—Bruce. We missed you down there.”

Now was the time to snort and say something deflective, cruel, sarcastic. But nothing came. His look simply deepened.

It washed away his grin and they stood on the deck as a frigid wind blew. Flash squirmed more visibly with each passing minute that Bruce stared unblinkingly at him.

“I doubt it.” He let the wind carry his words to the blond. “You all were much too entertained with each other to worry about my sake.”

He watched Barry’s skin pale as his mouth slackened.

“Which is fine.” He voiced in a hushed tone while shrugging, finally turning to face Barry. A sneer did cross his face as he watched the blond take a tentative step back. “You’re all adults. You can do what you wish. Though I will have no part of it…or any of you.

“Relay this message to the rest of them.” Each word is enunciated slowly, his tone darkening as powerful engines could be heard from afar. “Do not contact me ever again. I will not help you. I do not care for you. I am not in the League as of this moment and I want you _off_ my yacht at the end of the sojourn or I will call the Coast Guard.”

The Batplane came into view as Bruce took in Flash’s utterly shocked demeanor slowly diminishing to irreparable hurt, not revealing the slight tremors in his own body.  To further bury the point home, he turned his back on him, raising his grappling hook and shooting it into the air.

He carefully focused on the feel of wind whipping through his hair, the cold nips of wind attacking his face, his thundering heartbeat slowing to its typical rhythmic pattern as he zipped into the Batplane.

He sought comfort in familiarity, seating himself at the helm as he punched the coordinates to Wayne Manor before contacting Alfred via the communicator aboard. As soon as he heard the line _click_ and the visual of his father figure, he spoke in his usual clipped tone.

“Alfred. I’m returning earlier than usual.”

“Any particular reason, Master Bruce?”

No inflection was revealed within his voice which told him that Alfred seemed to think that nothing was wrong. His _blasé_ visage only added to his current line of thought. But he would be wrong.

“I’ve quit the League.”

At that, Alfred raised a cool eyebrow. “Truly, sir?” Bruce detected a slight snort. “And what exactly prompted such a disastrous decision?”

Bruce ignored Alfred’s chastising timbre. “I have no interest in keeping company with individuals such as them.”

“And you were doing so well, sir.”

“I was blind.”

“Most certainly. Those well-mannered entities who tempered your extreme actions were not meant to be trusted.”

Sarcasm this time and he once again bypassed it.

“They don’t trust me.”

“I highly doubt that, sir. I could name dozens of instances in which they’ve placed their trust in you.”

“Clearly whoring themselves to each other is not one of them.”

Only a slight widening of his eyes was his reaction.

Alfred remained silent for a few moments, contemplating on the statement and searching Bruce’s earnest expression. “I request further details, Master Bruce, before I voice my opinion.”

“I thought I was being clear. I found them desecrating my yacht via coitus.”

“You found them committing acts that are common among many species for reasons such as reproduction and pleasure.” Alfred spoke after a further silence, arching his favored brow once more. “And this is an issue?”

“I find it reprehensible. Repulsive even.” He bit out through gritted teeth, but then let a chastising grin slip. “They may think it hypocritical, but I find it distasteful. Even though Bruce Wayne is rumored to have a new choice nightly, _you_ know very well that I do not.

“And it’s not the fact that they have sex. I am not a prude nor do I live beneath a rock. They will commit such acts. It’s the fact that they do so _casually_ , as if it could be with anyone, with no self-respect to themselves.”

“Who determines that their self-respect diminishes for participating?”

Racking his brain for a logical response, he realized he had none but the obvious. Yet admitting it was too much to bare currently. “They’ve disrespected _me_ by conducting in such a manner. It’s something I wouldn’t do if I were only visiting their places of residence.”

Alfred shook his head before responding. “I would like to beg a question, sir?” He continued before Bruce could respond. “Would this have anything to do with your _lack_ of invitation?”

An immediate response came. “No. But the fact that they _didn’t_ invite me reveals that they’ve been hiding. Wouldn’t the logical reason to hide something be shame?”

“Or they simply thought that you wouldn’t prefer their company which you’ve made clear on numerous occasions.”

“I don’t.” He stamped down on the sickening feeling that threatened to develop: the possibility of him being _wrong_ in such a disastrous fashion. “But I gave them a chance anyway. Now, my faith in them has been destroyed. Especially in _him_.”

“ _Him_ , sir.”

Cerulean irises dulled dangerously as white hot pain tore through his chest. With nostrils flared, a stiffened jaw, and gritted teeth, Bruce spoke menacingly.

“The slutty repulsive hypocritical wanna-be human who I am averse to the more I think of him.”

Disgust. That was certainly the coiling tension in his gut. But something in the black abyss of his unconscious broke through to whisper that it wasn’t true…

“Set up the defenses around the mansion.” It would keep all of them out, giving him time to process these foul emotions. He didn’t want to dwell on it at the moment. “I will allow them to keep the Watchtower and possibly the yacht. It’s been fouled anyway.”

If everything went according to his plan, he’d never have to deal with them or this disease that he was afflicted with ever again.


End file.
